


So I Can Feel Where I Came From

by chanting_lotus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Jesus Talk, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Eastern Gate Duty, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forever, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but in the garden, but like, mostly in second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24859795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanting_lotus/pseuds/chanting_lotus
Summary: “It looks like they’re moving on,” The demon commented, gesturing out to the two humans.“So it does,” Aziraphale said.Crawly stood there silent and rocked back and forth on his feet. “Well, I suppose we had to leave eventually.” The demon faltered in his words.“I’m not leaving.”------------------------------------This is a story told entirely in the Garden.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 75





	1. And To Where I Will Return

Aziraphale watched when the sun broke over the horizon of the third morning. Not the _actual_ third morning, no, but the third since the humans had been cast to the sands. The desert was making way into a rugged undergrowth. He did not doubt the torrent of rain that the Almighty had sent was made to accomplish this.

The humans were finishing off their meat, having rested near the wall of Eden long enough to gain strength for travel. The angel could see the decision between the two mortals. They would move on—forward in the world with a babe in belly and sword in hand. He watched it with the look of someone who was disinterested, or perhaps worried for the creatures, but felt wretched inside.

The melancholy threatened to swallow him whole when the snake crawled up to him. It made a bittersweet sort of sense that a demon would shadow him in his lowest hour. Crawly transformed next to him, the ordeal still jarring enough that Aziraphale only watched from the corner of his eye. The black wings popped out from the other beings back, hair shifting in the slight wind.

“It looks like they’re moving on,” The demon commented, gesturing out to the two humans.

“So it does,” Aziraphale said.

Crawly stood there silent and rocked back and forth on his feet. “Well, I suppose we had to leave eventually.” The demon faltered in his words.

“I’m not leaving.” He hadn’t the slightest clue why he divulged that information to the enemy.

“You’re not, what? Why?”

Aziraphale wanted to tell him to mind his own, and to leave his holy radius, but what came out was, “I’m meant to stay. Guard the gate and all that—keep them from finding here once again.”

“I would have thought the Almighty would just,” Crawly waved his hand, “I dunno, vanish it once they left.”

So did Aziraphale. “The upper management thought it best that I be given a lower priority task, after the sword business.”

“I mean you can’t really guard without a sword anyway,” The demon argued. “That’s an ironic punishment—stay here, protect the garden, but without anything to protect it with.”

“I rather imagine that was why the assignment was given to me,” Aziraphale knew of punishment, knew of reprimanding and demotion and the whole lot of it.

“Not as bad as some punishments though, eh?” Crawly looked at him with his eyes—a true mark just as the snake next to his ear on what he was. What Aziraphale may have become for his stunt with the sword.

He felt his mouth tick up at the attempt of a joke, an instinctive part of the human body he was given. “Rather true, that.”

Crawly became somber then, examining him with his amber eyes. “You really are going to stay, aren’t you?”

“It’s what the Almighty has instructed me to do, yes.”

“You could always… not do that?” The demon’s voice lilted at the end, a paper-thin temptation.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. The attempt was shoddy and disappointed the angel. “No, I cannot. You may decide not to follow orders, but that is what separates you and I—me as an angel, and you as a demon.”

“Demons have got to follow orders, too.” Crawly disagreed. “Just not from the Big One upstairs, ya know?”

“Oh, I’m certain that you have quite the management structure down in Hell.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

Crawly shrugged, looking away from the angel. “Believe what you want. But I do have to do what my bosses tell me, or I can promise my punishment won’t be to stand in paradise for the rest of eternity.”

It seems that the conversation was at its end, as Crawly walked away from him along the wall. Aziraphale followed him with his eyes. He wanted to see when the demon shifted from man-shape to snake but it did not happen.

\--

It had been around ninety-eight days since the humans had left. Aziraphale had set down a schedule. He would walk the perimeter at dawn, once again at noon, and then a final time at dusk. In between, he studied the plants. He looked to the animals and beheld their startlingly intelligence and lack thereof. Most that lived in the garden still kept the lamb-like quality the Almighty had instilled in them. The only one that regularly avoided him were the snakes.

Speaking on snakes, he hadn’t seen the demon in a while. He assumed, after a couple of days of silence, that Crawly was being serious on having strict orders. Those orders most likely had him follow Adam and Eve out to the world. It made sense. He couldn’t cause much destruction or evil if he was still in the humanless Eden.

Aziraphale wondered which of the other angels had the job to play opposite of Crawly. Had they met yet? Did Crawly slither up to them as well, initiating a friendly conversation until they were confused as to how they were laughing with a demon, _a demon_? Of did the angel do as a good angel would, and smite him on the basis of the treacherous marks on the demon’s face?

More than seeing the humans, Aziraphale wanted one of the angels to come and visit him.

When dawn rose on the ninety-eighth day, the wall was walked along the length. Aziraphale was halfway done with the circuit when a familiar gleam of red caught his eye through the trees. He was gliding down from his post before a thought could cross his mind.

Sure enough, standing beneath the tree, was his former adversary. Crawly had its sweet fruit—an apple—in his hand and was looking at it with something akin to curiosity. He looked up to Aziraphale before the angel’s feet touched the ground.

“Aziraphale,” Crawley said pleasantly. “Have you had one of these yet?”

“Is that all you said to Eve? To think they were tempted so easily.” Aziraphale scoffed. He could barely believe that God’s chosen were able to be swayed by the demon, much less in such an easy manner.

Crawley shrugged. “More or less. Do you really want me to go through the whole spill again?”

“Better not,” The angel said. He would hate to think himself above the humans, but he would hate even more to be fooled by the same tricks. “How did you get in here?” His hand fisted into his tunic, suddenly nervous of where his defenses were weak. Heaven knows what…well, Heaven would do to him if he failed this task.

The demon furrowed his brow. “Through the door,” He said simply.

“There is no door in Eden’s walls. I would have got rid of it already.”

“No, not a door to the rest of the world, angel.” Crawly ticked his head to the base of the tree. “ _The_ door. Doesn’t your lot got one?”

And the horrid thing was that they did have one. Aziraphale had always assumed that one of the angels weren’t doing their duty and that was how the demons snuck in. “Oh, what a horrible design flaw!” Aziraphale cried.

“Can it really be a design flaw if the Almighty stuck it there?”

“No, She wouldn’t have.” The angel scoffed. “It must have been one of yours. Clever, but I don’t see how it went undetected.”

“It wasn’t one of us, honest. There’s so many of them everywhere—all of the great big world. These doors. When I came down, they were already there. Like The Alm—like it was pre-made in hell.” Crawly pursed his lips, looking down at the roots of the apple tree.

“It couldn’t be.” Aziraphale continued to deny. “I mean, it was most likely a demon that got there first. Say, terribly rude to ask, but when did you—?” He found his voice fading. It was a rude thing to inquire, even as an angel he knew it was a sensitive subject.

The demon waved away his concerns though. “Couldn’t be, I was one of the first. No way Hastur or Luc—anyone before me managed to get all of them done before I was down.”

One of the first…

Aziraphale really looked at Crawly again. Lean, all edges, clutching an apple. One of the first demons. The very thought upended Aziraphale’s insistence. “Oh. Well, then it truly must be ineffable.”

Crawly scowled when the angel said that, mouthing ‘ineffable’. “Right. That’s what keeps your type with white robes and wings. Just accepting and moving on.” He took a bite out of the apple in his hand. It stayed in his mouth for a few seconds before he spit it on the ground. Aziraphale watched it with thinly veiled disgust. “It’s not ripe.” Was Crawly’s way of explanation.

“Ah.” Aziraphale said. “So, what brings you here?”

“The humans picked out a home, and they spend each day just building and plowing and bickering. Don’t need me there for that.”

Aziraphale wanted to point out that he didn’t see why Crawly would need to be here either. As a demon, wouldn’t he rather go down to Hell for a spell, waiting orders? He was half-tempted to ask. “Plowing?” Is what he said instead.

“It’s where they use a big beast and attach some metal contraption behind it. Turns up the soil.”

“Why would they do that?”

Crawly shrugged. “They must’ve a reason for it. That doesn’t mean I know what it’s for.” He tossed the apple into the air again. “Have you tried any of the other fruit here?”

“There’s no reason for me to eat.” Aziraphale frowned. “We don’t have the need for food.”

“Sometimes you don’t need a reason to do something. I don’t see a reason against eating some of the fruit—as long as it’s not from this tree.” Crawly dropped the apple to the ground, where it would ripen then rot. Unless one of the creatures scooped it up. Aziraphale wondered if that creature would also be tossed from the Garden if they unwittingly ate. Perhaps he would pick it up and toss it over the Wall.

Better to be safe than sorry.

He also liked Crawly’s reasoning. The fruit had smelled lovely to him while he wandered through Eden, had hung heavy and sweet from his vantage point on the Wall. “Well, it would just go to waste should I not eat it…”

“Exactly!” Crawly beamed at him. It was the first time Aziraphale had been properly looking at the demon when he smiled, and he was shocked to see the canines looked more like fangs. “We can have a proper meal. I’ll get it together if you’d like to find a spot.”

“A spot?”

“To eat,” He explained. Crawly’s eyes were already off of him, looking to the trees. “The humans do it at least twice a day. And I don’t know any of the prime spots, so find somewhere nice, angel.”

Nice. The demon wanted him to find somewhere nice to sit. Not the adjective that Aziraphale would think to slip past the lips of a snake. “I can do that,” He said. Crawly prowled away from him and Aziraphale was once again, left alone.

He began to look at his different sitting spots. Which one would a demon find nice? Would he have a different definition than Aziraphale? There were a few mossy boulders near a bubbling stream, the ground dry enough to sit in the midday. It was a place Aziraphale liked to relax near, watching the small fish slip along the water. Should he do something to indicate this is where they should eat?

Before Aziraphale had puzzled it out, Crawly came out of the trees. He held the cracked pieces of coconut in both hands. The hollowed-out coconut held fruit and figs and nuts. The demon handed one half of the coconut over to him. There was a peach, banana and a kiwi with two figs and a handful of macadamia nuts.

The angel was most excited to try the peach and kiwi, as the outside of each was soft and fuzzy. Like his own cheek. Crawly watched him carefully and it took him a moment to realize why.

Aziraphale sat, letting the demon follow his actions. They put their backs to the boulders and faced each other. He balanced his coconut piece onto the taut robe covering his crossed legs.

“It looks…lovely.” Aziraphale didn’t know how to compliment a good dish, or the arrangement of what may very well be a good dish. “Thank you.”

Crawly’s cheeks pinked, dipping his free hand into the stream next to them and bringing the cupped water up to his mouth. “Best not thank me. Don’t know who may be listening.” The droplets left on his hand was wiped onto the ground.

“Very true,” Aziraphale smiled, though it was somewhat pinched. The next few moments were rather awkward, as neither of them reached for any of the food. “Do you know how to…?” Aziraphale trailed off. He had a distinct feeling that some of the fruit should not be eaten whole.

“I’ve only ever ate the apple.” Crawly confessed.

“You didn’t eat that, actually,” Aziraphale pointed out. “You said it wasn’t ripe.”

“I ate it before. With the humans.”

“You ate it along with Adam and Eve?”

Crawly waved away his disbelief. “How else would I get them to eat it—if you say, hey, this is fine to touch! And then don’t touch it, no one is going to believe you.”

“What does it taste like?” The angel’s curiosity might get him in trouble one day, if anyone from above would check on him.

The demon tapped the edge of the coconut, humming. “I’m not sure I can explain it, without you ever putting something in your mouth. How can you describe taste, when the person has never tasted anything?”

“When I was up in heaven, they tried explaining what it would be like to smell.” Aziraphale offered up. “That didn’t do it justice either.”

“A principality with the ability to see and hear, then.”

“How did you know that I could see?” There were many an angel, in true form, with no eyes. Or those that were blind by how close they drew to God. All that swooped around Her form, crying praises, had lost any sight long ago.

Crawly picked up the macadamia nut then, the first to break their unwillingness to touch the food. “You would have mentioned sight if you were without it in Hea—up there.”

“Did you…were you able to see, when you were?” Aziraphale cut himself off for fear of overstepping. Crawly didn’t seem to be perturbed though, biting at the nut and scowling when the hard shell didn’t give. He hit it against his boulder, but that did not break the shell either.

“I think I got us some bad nuts.” Crawly returned it to his bowl. “And to answer your question, no, I didn’t have eyes. No reason for them.”

“Ah,” The angel didn’t continue his line of questioning. Instead he picked up the peach and bit into it. Carefully, though. He’d hate to break his corporation’s teeth. The skin gave away easy to the rest of the fruit. The first sensation was an almost unbearable sour taste that pulled Aziraphale’s mouth into a pucker, followed by a lovely sweetness. It went down tasting similar to how it smelled.

Crawly observed his reaction to the peach. “Was it bad as well?” He asked as if he expected it to be so.

“Quite contrary.” Aziraphale smiled. “It’s wonderful.”

\--

Crawly doesn’t return for a long time after that. Aziraphale worried. He worried about the new adversary the demon was faced against, and if he was away on orders or away…permanently. Aziraphale had already made peace that no angel was going to make calls to the garden, and that he had no desire for a different demon to come around.

There were angels who were capable of standing for eternity, shrouded in God’s perfect light, unable to see or speak to anyone. They stood watch over the goodness of God. Aziraphale assumed they had no want for anything else.

But he was a Principality. Created with the purpose of being among the humans, protecting and guarding. All he guarded now was a lush, but empty, Eden. He began his time by setting a routine and he altered it to have hours to pray. During those hours, his mind would wander to jaundiced eyes and snakeskin. He’d jolt guiltily at his mind being set away from the Lord.

A peculiar occurrence happened around the garden. The days grew short and cold, and the nights long. Frozen rain would hail down and leave everything glinting and icy the next day. Aziraphale never stepped off the wall or out of the garden, but he peeked over the edge to watch.

The days changed again, and all the growth that had sprung up from the Almighty’s first rain bloomed. Animals crept along the foliage with small babes under their parents’ feet. Aziraphale watched it all with interest, wondering what Crawly thought of the new life. Were the animals outside of the garden cursed with sin, much like the humans? Or were they placed there to offer companionship and food to the sinners? Was it a punishment to the creatures or a kindness to the men?

The cycles swept through again and again, and Aziraphale turned his eye to the animals within the wall. They also had children, copulating in a messy manner, and he tended to the babes. The mothers did not die in childbirth like some animals outside. Aziraphale could not determine if that was because they were sinful or if it was caused by his helping hand.

He would help with the birth and ensure each animal had its score of food, before backing off from the creatures. The first several generations, he had lain right next to them. They would run through the garden and Aziraphale would follow. The babes would lay their heads upon his lap and the parents would push their faces against him. But then, the parents would wither with age and the babes would grow old enough to make babes of their own. The creatures would leave him, each in its own time.

Aziraphale knew that man would not have died should he had stayed everlasting in Eden. But would the animals always be cursed to perish or was that another punishment added on to the sin of disobedience? He never voiced his questions aloud, but then again, there was no one to voice them to.

The seasons change and they are the closest thing to long time that Aziraphale knows. He thinks on growing his hair out, another way to determine time. He spends most of his time up on the wall, allowing him to look as far as the horizon. It also keeps the animals at bay. They do not fear him, for they have never learned fear, but each graze and bump caused his heart to hurt.

It is from this vantage point that he spots the demon.

Crawly is within the walls again, but not near the tree. He instead stands where they had their meal together, head bowed. Aziraphale flies down to greet him. “Crawly,” he breathes out. The demon has trimmed his hair some, and wears a head covering. There are no wings.

When Crawly turns to look at him, Aziraphale takes stock of his face. There is a red rim around his eyes that give pause. “Is something the matter, my dear?” The kindness slips out of him.

“How could something be wrong?” Crawly mimics a laugh. “And if something is wrong, then shouldn’t I rejoice? Isn’t that what a demon does?”

“What happened?”

The demon doesn’t turn to look at them. “I followed orders. I didn’t know it would cause…I thought, it was simply to sow discord.” His hands bunch up into the material of his robe. Aziraphale can see how tightly Crawly grips it. “It was so much blood. And I’d never seen—I’d forgotten they could die.”

“What did you do?” Horror grips Aziraphale. Animals here died of age, but he had seen corpses within the wood. A half-eaten elk deposited near the wall. “Who did you _kill_?”

Crawly whirled around. It was good on him to do so, as the angel stalked closer. He wanted to grab Crawly and shake him with as much force as he could. “I didn’t!” Crawly swore. “I just followed orders! I told Cain—I told him, well, it was rotten how he had given up the fruits of his work and the Al—and Abel’s alter was seen more favorably. I didn’t think it was right. Both gave from what they worked. Why should Abel be praised for the job his father gave him?”

“That doesn’t explain anything, Crawly.” Aziraphale snapped.

“Cain took it more to heart than I wanted. He found his brother…in the field…” The demon’s eyes took on a faraway quality. “He seemed as shocked as I. He did not wish to kill him.”

“But he killed him.” A realization dawned on the angel. “He killed his own brother. Because you had to put those thoughts in his head. Why not leave him be?”

“Downstairs would know if I hadn’t completed my work. It’s not like there’s much to watch up here, yet. I didn’t want Cain to do that.” Crawly promised.

“It does not matter what you intended.” Memories, hazy in the infinite, floated around in his mind. How angel brethren fought against angel brethren. “It matters what happened.” Aziraphale could feel his voice quivering.

“Angel…”

“Don’t. I don’t know why I let myself forget. You’re a demon.”

Crawly seemed to draw in and harden. “I am a demon. It means that I have to follow what I’m told to do. No matter how awful, because I work for demons.”

“And what? Is that to make me feel bad for you? As if you didn’t become a demon for a reason?” Aziraphale wondered why.

“You can’t honestly think I would do that. Sure, Abel was somewhat self-righteous for my taste but—” The dismissive way he spoke filled Aziraphale with rage. As if someone being somewhat haughty would be reason to be killed.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out. Right now.” His voice sounded wet. His eyes burned dry. “I don’t want you in my garden, so leave.”

He could feel the light emanating from his eyes, the holy light of Heaven. The sky rumbled above them and Crawly crouched low. It looked right—for the demon to be bowed as he was when he came writhing on the ground. Aziraphale felt closer to Heaven than he had for the last several months, raising his hand and feeling God’s power and judgement gather in his palm.

Before he could call down pain and purity onto the Earth, scorching and salting the spot where the snake stood, the demon disappeared.

It took hours for him to calm, and during his anger, Aziraphale hunted down each door that was in the Garden, each one leading down to the basement, and sealed it. He lined it with holy water and salt, sealing the cracks and locking the hatches.

The animals avoided him on his warpath. When the sun went down, so did his temper. He spent the night wandering the wall, watching the stars and looking out to the forest around him. Aziraphale was too sure in himself to say he was hoping that a flash of gold might be found among the trees.

\--

Seasons pass.

\--

Aziraphale encountered a tortoise. It lives longer than almost any other beast he has met, but still is a babe to him when they pass. He watched over one with a scar upon his eye. The tortoise got it from falling down one of Eden’s lush hills. The other eye was wise and working, though.

He found a mate late in his life, which Aziraphale assured him was nothing to be ashamed of. They end up having one clutch of eggs. Aziraphale watched over the mound where his friend’s mate laid the eggs. He visited the spot each day and wondered when the children would come.

The tortoise and his mate spent their days nearby as well. Aziraphale brought them lush leaves from the higher trees. He would clean the large shells and take his friend’s headbutting with good nature.

Aziraphale was almost certain that the one-sided conversation would be the best he could get in the garden. As he had shooed out the only other sentient creature.

The first child, he names Adam. It is the son that breaks the ground first, though three other tortoises follow after him. They spend years together, but Aziraphale does not name any of the other ones.

Adam’s first child, he hesitated to name Abel. It felt better than Cain.

He didn’t know many other Earth names, so when Abel’s first daughter broke the ground, he called her by an angelic one—Ramiel.

The next, he names Crawly. Aziraphale would never tell the demon. If he ever saw the demon again.

\--

The rain hadn’t stopped. Aziraphale paced the Wall, watching as the forest below turns into swamp land. Inside Eden, the ground stays dry—as if there is an eye to the storm, watching carefully over his guarding place.

The Wall was not his favorite place to be in these last several days. Aziraphale did it because the Lord commanded, but the rain from outside sleeted onto the stone and on his wings. The bottom of his robe dragged on his ankles, sticking to his skin. The rain was up to the trunks of the trees now. How far did the storm go? How long was it meant to go?

He had a moment to think that it was Crawly’s doing—a way to drown out and destroy the world beyond. But what came from the Heavens, well, _literally_ came from the Heavens.

The days passed in worry, each day mounting with the water. It was halfway up the Wall, when he saw a familiar face among the Garden. Aziraphale, damp and soggy, flew down from his perch.

Crawly was facing away. Crouched, much in the same position as the last time they saw each other but seemed to have a purpose for it this time. There was a baby bird upon the ground, squalling. It must have fell from the wind accompanied by the rain. A nest loomed high in the tree above him.

Aziraphale landed some distance away, just watching. Crawly scooped it up and deposited back into the nest above. His wings were hidden from this plane, but Aziraphale could just make them out. They were as wet and dripping as his hair. He must have flown in from the rain.

The demon turned to face him after a moment. Aziraphale couldn’t say if Crawly knew he was there.

“Hello.” Crawly said.

“Hello.” They waited in the quiet. Aziraphale was the first to crack. “Uh, do you know what this is?”

A ghost of smile. “I thought you might. Being from your lot and all.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time they told me anything of import.” He could hardly recall what it was like the last time another angel spoke to him. He was certain that if he were to go up there now, his social graces would be sorely lacking. “Did you, did you come from far away?”

“Rather far, yeah.”

“And it was…?”

Crawly sighed, “It was raining there, too. Noah—I don’t suppose you’d know him, but he’s a human that seems to be well-liked by your head office—and his family made this big old boat in the middle of the desert. Everyone thought they were right fools.”

“What were you doing watching him?” Aziraphale smiled at the idea of a man constructing something to float in a dry land.

“Well, it was enough to draw the attention of my people.” He pulled at his hair, wringing it out. It was somewhat longer than when they first met. It made Aziraphale think that perhaps he should grow out his own. “So, ‘Go over and check it out, report back.’”

“Ah.”

“Your head office didn’t tell you how long it would be?”

“Afraid not.” Aziraphale and Crawly watched each other from across the glade. Aziraphale clenched some of his robe into his hand. “Would you like to eat something? Wait for it to die down?”

“That sounds like the best idea of the century. Did you find anything in the Garden you liked since the last time we ate?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks felt hot. “I haven’t eaten since then.”

The demon’s eyebrows went up. “You haven’t?”

“Have you?”

“Of course.” His hair was tossed over his shoulder. “The humans are particularly fond of it. I’ll find us something that’ll do. You find somewhere to eat.”

“Will the same place as last time do?” Eve and her clutch was present near the stream, but he thought perhaps his friends would like to meet.

When he walked by the tortoise, handing her a miracle leave, the thought pulled him up short. His friends. How strange to think of a demon as something other than an adversary. How dangerous.

“Hello, there. What is this?” Crawly had come in with coconut bowls again, the sight reminiscent, and made a wide circle around Eve. One of her tiny hatchlings waddled closer to the demon. He, like all creatures, saw the strange lanky form as a friend. Crawly beat a hasty retreat.

The sight made Aziraphale chuckle. “They’re tortoises. Quite long-lived, and very inclined to foliage.” Crawly never took his eyes off the four as he came over to the angel. “The mother is named Eve.”

“Eve? How classic,” Crawly’s tone was flat. “What are the young one’s names?”

“I haven’t given them any.” Yet. It hadn’t settled right to give the beast of the land a name from the angelic host. And he only knew two demon names—one which he would never use, and one that made him feel embarrassed the first and only time he had named one. “Besides, I usually only name the first one. There was one,” Ramiel, “that had twelve hatchlings.”

Crawly handed him the bowl and they observed the large tortoise. She lifted her head up to the sky, eyes closed as she searched for warmth. It had been too many days with a grey sky.

“Perhaps I will name the first one Noah?” Crawly had put an apple in the bowl. Aziraphale ignored it while reaching for the pomegranate and breaking it open with his thumbs.

“I’d suggest not.” The demon bit into the apple, slowing Aziraphale’s own progress. He watched as Crawly chewed the meat of the forbidden fruit, lips slick with the juice, and swallowed. No outward change affected him. “I have no idea why your lot decided to let him in the know, as he was a raging drunkard. His son, Shem, he isn’t too bad.”

“Shem, then.” Aziraphale agreed. He was in a good mood, being able to speak with someone who could respond. There was a word he didn’t know that Crawly used. “Also, drunkard?”

\--

The rain stopped so, so many days later. While the days were dreary, the company wasn’t awful.

\--

Crawly was standing outside the Wall. Aziraphale peered down at him; he wore a black veil over his hair and was holding rolls of strange cloth. “I’m coming up, angel.” He warned. Aziraphale watched as he pulled his wings from another plane and stretched them, before taking flight.

Crawly crested until he landed next to Aziraphale. “Been quite some time since we’ve been up here, eh?”

Aziraphale started, remembering that time. “So, it has.” He wanted to say more. Aziraphale wasn’t sure on what to say. “What are you carrying?”

“They’re scrolls,” He lifted up the scrolls. “They keep stories. I’d thought you’d like them.”

“They keep stories?”

Crawly hands one over. Aziraphale unrolls it, and frowns when he sees strange scratching on the cloth. He thought he might find a drawing of some sort. What laid before him made no sense. “I don’t understand.” He was comfortable enough to admit that.

“It’s the way the write to each other. I had a librarian teach me—maybe I could teach you?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be a terrible learner.” But he smiled anyway.

Crawly sneered, but Aziraphale was certain that it was for show. “I bet I’m a terrible teacher.”

He was, but Aziraphale couldn’t fault him. Crawly’s eyes, he admitted, made it hard to understand the scratchings. He copied them into a sandy bank of the river, making sounds that turned to words. Aziraphale would ask questions over a ‘letter’ and Crawly would repeat what he learned. It was spoken so stiffly that the angel knew it was verbatim from the human librarian.

When Crawly was called away on a mission, Aziraphale redrew the letters and kept learning them. He even managed half a scroll before Crawly returned.

\--

Crawly came in the night, and Aziraphale knew why—as he was breaking the rules. In the evening, when Aziraphale spotted him, he swooped to see him. He was brought up short by another man standing with Crawly.

When the man turned, eyes catching on Aziraphale’s form, he shocked the angel as well. There was a soft glow around the man’s head. His curls fell down his back in long tresses and his eyes had a kind look. Aziraphale came down from his perch slowly.

“Angel,” Crawly said. He saw the way that the two others watched each other. “I wouldn’t bring someone here, usually, but well, you can _see_ ,” He cut his babbling short.

“Hello,” The holy man said. His voice was soft, deep enough to carry across the clearing they were standing in. He took a step towards Aziraphale, who seemed rooted to the spot.

Crawly darted between them, steps less purposeful than either of the others. “This is—”

“I know who this is.” Aziraphale tore his eyes from the Son. “Why have you brought him here?”

“I wanted to show him the world. Before…before.” Crawly looked at the man. “I mean, a carpenter wouldn’t get to see so much otherwise.”

“Kind of you,” Aziraphale murmured. “And you thought he would like to see where it all began?”

“I thought you would like to meet him.” The Son turned away from them, allowing them some privacy. A lemur climbed to a lower branch and he lifted his hand to greet it.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of how kind that was of him. And how dangerous. He could feel a coiling in his shoulders. “You can’t possibly think my desire supersedes my responsibility. I’m not to allow any human back into the garden.”

“Ah, but wasn’t quite the rules, was it?” Crawly said. “All that was said was, don’t allow those blighted by sin back into the garden, allow none that forsook me back into my holy land, yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand. “And you can’t really say that he has sin, can you?”

“I guess not,” Aziraphale hedged. He didn’t want to remove the Son of God from the garden. He certainly didn’t want to look him in the eye and say he couldn’t be here.

“So, nothing’s wrong then.” Crawly clapped his hands. “Aziraphale, come meet Yeshua.”

The holy man turned back to them, smile on his face. “Hello, Aziraphale. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s an honor to meet you.” Aziraphale said honestly. “I hear that Crawly is showing you around.”

“She is showing me the wonders of the world. I know it is in hopes that I will turn my back on my path, but we are both aware that is not something that is possible.” Yeshua gave Aziraphale a private smile. Crawly scoffed, pulling his veil over his hair. It must be the fashion of women.

“Of course. Would you like to…eat?” Aziraphale didn’t want to speak on what his higher ups had planned for Yeshua since before the Earth was in existence.

“We can fish and talk over the meal.” Yeshua suggested.

Aziraphale could feel his face lose some color. He had seen dead animals outside of the Wall, and even some inside the garden. But the ones out in the world were too far away from him, and the carcasses inside were spirited away each night. “Oh, I think some fruit and figs would quite suffice.”

Yeshua studied him for a moment. “It is your home. And it will be filling, I’m sure.”

Aziraphale beamed. Then he turned to Crawly, so used to the demon fetching food for them. He looked back at Aziraphale for a moment, eyebrows raised. Crawly huffed. “Oh, fine, I’ll find something decent. Make sure Shem isn’t taking up too much space. Or going to spook your friend.”

The Son smiled at that. Crawly had already shoved off his responsibility of Yeshua, and the sun had barely set. “She does not enjoy letting others know she is kind, Crawly.”

“It is dangerous.” Aziraphale responded.

“Yes.” Yeshua studied the retreating demon. “I suppose it is.”

“Besides,” Aziraphale waved his hand. He wanted to lighten the mood. “Shem was a rather big fellow. Dwarfed his mate. But he unfortunately passed on some time ago—now the one I watch is named Paris.”

“After the Iliad?”

“Yes, after the Iliad.” They come upon the bank of the river. The rocks that Crawly and Aziraphale used for chairs were covered in moss. It had never bothered the angel before, but perhaps he should offer more. Though, he knew that Yeshua came from humble origins, it was always planned that way. “I didn’t think they would teach you how to read.” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks reddening as he realized how rude he came across.

“People will tell it. It is one of the stories that are passed around traveling fires, and thus any wanderer knows it. Most fishermen, too.”

“Ah. I imagine it would be different to be told the story.” Aziraphale thought of being surrounded with Yeshua at the fire, and one of his men would lean over and recount the heroics of Achilles. Would sigh when speaking on the love of Helen. They’d all tense when the horse was spoken on, and even though everyone knew how it would end, they’d all hope for a different ending this time. Just the fantasy was enough to bring back the centuries old familiar ache. The ache of loneliness. “May I ask you something?”

Yeshua nodded. The sun was setting quickly, and he wished that he had thought of a fire.

“I don’t know…all that you know.” Aziraphale said. “But, I was sent down here with humans. One of the first angels. I made…a mistake. I didn’t think it was one at the time, honestly. But then I was told to stay here. And I have. I have. But I know I could be helpful out there. I want to.” He couldn’t bring himself to ask: _Why am I still here? Is what I did really so wrong?_

The Son was quiet next to him. Birds called from the trees around them and the river ran loud next to him. Yeshua looked to the moving water. “I would like to tell you a story.”

Aziraphale sat up to listen, eyes straining as the night continued on. The moon cast Yeshua’s features into shadow. “Once, a Jewish man was born blind. His parents left him out to be exposed, and yet, he lived. He was a beggar. He was a follower of the Word. He knew the testaments and lived by them.”

“Often, he would wonder why God had cursed him to live as a beggar. Why he was not allowed into the synagogue. Did his parents commit sins? Did he?” Yeshua turned his eyes to Aziraphale.

“One day, he was journeying between towns and heard a man call for help. This man had fallen from his horse into a ditch. He was badly injured. He was a Gentile. Custom would dictate that a Jewish man would not have to stop and help, but the blind man did not know that he was a Gentile. And so, he helped.”

“The Gentile repaid him kindly when he recovered from his wounds. They became as close as brothers, and the blind man was given an easier life. The Gentile was so close to Jewish man’s heart that he was given access to eternal life ever after.” Aziraphale waited. He knew that Yeshua would tell him what the fable was meant for.

“And so, I tell you, Aziraphale—the blind man was not being punished for a sin. Instead, God had a purpose for him. The purpose of saving another soul. The Jewish man could not see God’s purpose and instead thought it was a punishment. Everything—from blindness to solitude—is ordained by God for reason. The purpose may be the whole of someone’s life, or a single moment.”

Crawly came stumbling through the dark before Aziraphale could respond. He wanted to know, it was true for humans, but did that make it true for angels? Crawly was juggling three makeshift bowls, quietly cursing as he found his way along the path.

If it was true for angels, Aziraphale wondered, is it true for demons?

\--

The sky turned black for an hour. Aziraphale was feeding Paris when it occurred, and he stopped to stare into up long enough for the tortoise to nip at him. He knew what it meant.

Crawly appeared that night, a skin in his arms. He looked up at the wall, where Aziraphale watched him, and stumbled some. Even in the moonlight, Aziraphale could tell his eyes were unfocused. He hadn’t even uncurled his wings. How did he plan to get in?

His companion crept closer to the wall. Aziraphale had to lean over it to watch what he was doing. Crawly laid his free hand flat against the stones and pressed his cheek to it as well. A small sob rose up loud enough for Aziraphale to hear. It pulled him down to where Crawly stood, but on the inside, and he punched through the wall. It was not the first time he had taken a stone out—but it was the first in a very, very long time. The first time to make anything resembling a door into Eden.

He reached his arm out, finding purchase on Crawly’s garb and pulling him into the garden. No rules were broken, Azirapahle reasoned. Afterall, he hadn’t stepped out from his sanctioned area. Only his arm left.

Crawly curled in on him when Aziraphale managed to get him through. His adversary—his friend—was all bone and cool skin. He folded around the angel as if he had more joints than he should, fit easier than Aziraphale thought he would be able to. Crawly also had a skin in his hands, pushing it up against Aziraphale’s robes.

“What’s this?” Aziraphale asked.

Crawly looked at it like he had never seen it before. In the moonlight, his cheeks were rosy. It paired lovely with his hair. His eyes were somewhat unfocused. “It’s wine, angel.”

“Wine? Like the stuff that Noah liked?”

“Something very, very good that humans made.” Crawly said. “Makes you forget everything. Makes you forget to feel bad. You should try some with me.”

“At another time, I will.” Aziraphale would, too. But not when Crawly was using wine as a crutch. “But right now, I think that what would be best is a lie-down next to the river. And I can bring you some grapes.”

“Wine comes from grapes.” Crawly didn’t respond beyond that but let Aziraphale lead him to what he was beginning to think of as their spot. Paris was sleeping, his clutch buried into the ground below them.

\--

Crawly was right. Wine was very, very good.


	2. He Did Not Stay (In His Grave)

As the years pass on, a few things change and also, stay the same. Crowley changes his name, so Aziraphale feels less embarrassed when he named a second tortoise after the demon. And Aziraphale finds that once he mastered the written word, he could devour the literature before him.

Something that stayed the same was that the garden stayed a garden. And gardens weren’t very useful in preserving hundred-year old texts. 

Something that stayed the same was how the two bickered. Over any and everything—including how the garden couldn’t know to not let moss eat away at the first gift that Crowley had given Aziraphale. 

“I mean really, angel.” Crowley cried out. “It’s almost like you want to tell me you hate the things I give you.” 

“I cherish everything that you’ve brought me.” Aziraphale disagreed. It was true, he just didn’t treat them as if they were true. 

“And yet, the Iliad is ruined. I paid for that you know, since no one wanted to take the time to write it down.” 

The Iliad was ruined. Aziraphale had hid it away inside a tree hole, unaware that a sparrow was using it as a nest. She had taken some of the parchment and combined with the lichen growing up and into the tree, bird dung, and the tiny skeletons of the dead animals the sparrow brought home, it was to be left to decompose in the tree hole. Like a grave. 

Crowley continued. “I’m just saying, you could let me make a house here.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, but his friend barreled on. “You wouldn’t even have to make it! If I did—well, I would have to be up to something devious in there, right? So, you would have to come in, watch over the walls just to make sure that I wasn’t exerting my demonic wiles in Eden.” 

“I would have to stop you before you could build the house,” Aziraphale said. “I couldn’t explain away how I didn’t notice you building an entire dwelling in the middle of the garden!” 

“I wouldn’t spend so much time as to build the entire thing.” 

“You can’t possibly miracle up a whole building.” 

“Not the entire thing, sure.” Crowley shrugged. “But if you were to start your patrol at the other end of the wall, I might be able to finish it before you get over. It’s starting to look a little far away, isn’t it?” 

Aziraphale agreed with him. Eden had begun stretching itself, the Wall elongating with the inside. More animals could leave within the trees. He found new spots where grapes and berries grew on vines up the walls, spots that were most certainly not there fifty years ago. 

“I haven’t got a clue what you’re on about.” Aziraphale lied. 

“Sure.” Crowley isn’t actually agreeing with him. He’s just agreeing that they will not shift their fight to that. “Besides, are they really going to ask? When was the last time anyone from head office checked in on you?” 

An old wound that flared anyway. Crowley wasn’t meaning to step on it, but it didn’t stop Aziraphale from showing the pain for a split moment. Someone else may not have watched the angel as closely. May not have noticed it. But that was something that was different with Crowley, he had always noticed. 

“Hey,” His voice was softer than Aziraphale could remember it being. “It’s okay. The Iliad is a lot easier to find nowadays. I’ll get you a new one.” 

\--

Crowley told Aziraphale that he kept within the fashion of the times. Aziraphale had kept his white robe, simplistic and unchanging. The only person who saw him was the demon, anyhow. 

There were ages of human fashion that Aziraphale was certain that Crowley was pulling his primaries. One such time was the time of Shakespeare. Aziraphale adored the man’s words, the way he developed characters fleshed out and flawed. Each person had personality that motivated their reasons in plot. 

He did not adore the fashion of Shakespeare. 

Crowley wore a tight-fitting jacket, that had exaggerated buttons and shoulder pads. His hair was still long, the only redeeming quality of the costume. There was a strange beard upon his face, long but only along his chin. He wore tiny spectacles that clearly needed a miracle to keep hiding his eyes. 

His bottom half was somehow even more mismanaged. He wore a pair of shorts, puffy and with a terrible, striped pattern, that pulled into his thighs and clung tightly. The pants underneath hugged his legs all the way down to his strange shoes. They had exaggerated buttons too and went high up on the ankle. 

Simply put, it was a disaster. 

“You just do not understand fashion.” Crowley said, the first time he showed up wearing the outfit. Aziraphale hadn’t laughed at him, but his face must have done something funny. His lips pinched; eyebrows high in amusement. 

“Strange that you call that fashion.” 

“You can’t know fashion. You haven’t seen anything since they were wearing leaves.” He looked somewhat guilty for the dig. Aziraphale forgave him, waving his worries away. But Crowley had handed him a book, Henry VI, Part One, and made noise about a temptation needing to be performed. 

The book allowed him to leave easy, Aziraphale already distracted. He poured into the story, entranced by the way the man wrote. 

By the time Crowley came back, more books in hand, Aziraphale had not only finished the play but had thought of a comeback. The first thing out of his mouth, when Crowley touched down in his ridiculous pants and strange beard was, “It is more fashionable to wear leaves than whatever the humans have conjured up now.” 

For a moment, Crowley was confused. Then his face set into a dour expression. “Very clever.” 

Aziraphale beamed. He couldn’t help it; he had delivered his line perfectly. The pure joy on his face brightened his counterpart. He looked to what Crowley was holding.

“Are these also from that William Shakespeare fellow?” 

“Yes,” Crowley said. “Why? Did you not like the first one I got you?” 

“No, my dear, I loved it. I’m so excited to see what he’s worked up next. Did he ever make a Part Two for his play?” Aziraphale put his hands out to take the tomes from Crowley. It may have appeared greedy, or presumptuous, but he wouldn’t be judged for that. Not in current company. 

“And a Part Three.” 

“Lovely.” Aziraphale sighed. “I can’t wait to see what else he’ll come up with.” 

Crowley passed him the books, and he thought of where he could store them. He had forwent the hidey-holes of trees, since the Iliad problem. He had taken to putting them in cracks of the Wall. Aziraphale did not create these small crevices, but he would take advantage of them. 

“I wouldn’t be so certain that he’ll come up with much else.” 

“Why’s that?” He wondered if the next two books weren’t as good as the first. Perhaps Shakespeare used all that he had to make the first book. 

“No one seems to like his plays as much as you.” Crowley shrugged. “He’s losing funding, and a man’s got to eat.” 

“Are they bad?” 

“Kind of mopey. But not terribly written.” 

“Oh,” And Aziraphale had a thought. “Well, couldn’t you…you know?” His hands gestured in front of him, as if they could encompass what he was trying to say. 

“Couldn’t I what?” Crowley knew what he was asking. Aziraphale didn’t need to see his eyes to tell they were lit up. He was going to make the angel really and truly ask him. 

“Push people along to go see it?” 

One corner of Crowley’s mouth pulled up. It was more sneer than smirk, more smirk than smile. It fit his face. “Why, Aziraphale,” He rarely used the angel’s name. “Are you suggesting that I use my wiles to get people to see Shakespeare?” 

Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat. He wasn’t sure how to respond and clutched the books tighter to him. Crowley continued on. “And all for the purpose so that you can keep reading his works?” His words turned soft on the end. Aziraphale wondered if this was how he spoke to Eve. 

“Yes.” He jutted his chin out. No other angel was here to see his selfish asking, and Crowley wouldn’t play with him just to say no. 

His companion’s mouth fell open. It reminded Aziraphale of the expression he was given when he told Crowley about the sword business. Crowley’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips, closing them with an audible snap. 

“You’ll owe me.” Crowley said. His tongue came out again, and his hands clenched and unclenched. Aziraphale watched a small shudder go through him. “You’ll owe me, angel.” 

“Whatever I can give you, it’s yours.” Aziraphale was earnest about it. Crowley would not take something to harm or spite him. 

Crowley stepped closer then, a flush of red creeping up from his neck to his face. He pulled his glasses off, the first time in ages, and looked hungry. He looked like he was starving. It resounded in Aziraphale, making him dizzy. 

Something on Aziraphale’s face—whether it be the worry or confusion—pulled his friend back. He looked over the angel’s features one more time, before slipping back on his glasses. 

“Right, well, you can guess what I want.” 

And he could. With the flippant way he spoke, Aziraphale knew. “You want to build the house.” 

Crowley smiled, no teeth in it at all. “Of course. Why would I go through all the trouble of bringing you the books if they were just going to be destroyed by the elements?” 

“You’ll have to do something else for me then.” Aziraphale could feel the worry in the pit of his stomach. He had only felt this way once—when he placed his sword in Adam’s hand. It was the sensation that what he was doing was right for him but was dreadfully unsafe. “I’ll need you to seal the doors then.” 

“You’ve already sealed our doors.” Crowley said. 

“Not your group’s doors.” Aziraphale looked upwards. “Mine.” 

“You want me to—”

“Well, I can’t do it myself, can I? I don’t possess anything that could prevent another angel from coming in.” 

“I haven’t a clue where they are.” Crowley protested. 

“I’ll show you were.” Aziraphale smiled like it was not a big deal. As if he wasn’t asking for a demon to take all his exits away from him. 

Crowley followed him, keeping close to Aziraphale. He didn’t raise anymore arguments. There were three ways into Eden from Heaven, the same as Hell. Aziraphale refused to think on it, lest he draw some conclusions about ineffability that the other angels would be right put out about. 

After he had pointed each out, carefully explained to Crowley how to find them himself, and said that he was going to walk the farthest part of the wall, the demon called out to him. “Angel.” 

“Yes?” 

“I get one more favor. For this.” He gestured up. 

“Oh, alright.” Aziraphale relented. It was fair with how much trouble Crowley could get in for tampering with the opposing side. How much trouble Aziraphale would get in if they ever found out how he learned to see the doors. “But only a small one.” 

\--

The house was, simply put, decadent. There were two large rooms filled with bookcases for Aziraphale. As he collected his treasures and began to store them, it kept growing. He had a feeling that Crowley used up quite the miracle to make such a thing happen. 

There was also a wine cellar below, equipped with not only the wine it was made to keep, but other human delights. Crowley had pointed each out—rum, vodka, a bottle that was filled with pitch-black liquid called moonshine. There was also a room with a large bed, if Aziraphale ever took interest. 

Part of the house opened to the outside, spilling in sunlight in the afternoon to the sitting area in the afternoon. It was meant to be a place to read. Directly attached to it was another section of the room, a table and chairs for eating. Crowley promised that they could still eat out near the stream when the fancy took Aziraphale. 

It was—nice. That was the best word for it, the word that didn’t make Aziraphale’s chest swell. The act of love that was put into the house was felt throughout every grain of wood and stitch of cotton, showing the breadth and depth of his friend’s affection. The angel wouldn’t linger on it too long as it was like a catch in the lung. Breathe it in too deeply and he couldn’t breathe at all. 

\--

Eden grew. Aziraphale knew it wasn’t a trick of his lonely mind when he found a new lake, connected by stream to the others and several fish swimming idyllic around the clear pool. 

\--

The favor came decades later, not that Aziraphale was that adept at keeping count. His house had become more home than keeper of his books, and there were spare blankets that Crowley would miracle for the angel. There was a set of china, beautiful white and pink, that resided in the cabinets. He’d even added a canopy to the bed, not that it saw much use. 

The dressers remained empty, though. Aziraphale had no need to swap robes, not when he was careful to keep it glowing. And he had no desire to try out the fashions of Shakespeare. 

There was a shift in the air around Aziraphale one day as he fed Tybalt, a signature zing that let him know Crowley was fast approaching. He took flight to the wall, a want to see Crowley unfurl his dark wings once more. The demon only pulled them from the outer planes when he had purpose for them, carefully tucking them away elsewise. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, charmed. He was wearing a rather impressive set of clothing. His hair was coiled tight to his head, and it had distinct difference from the garments of the past. He still wore a jacket, but it was less puffy, complimenting his torso as well as his legs. The pants were a touch similar, and yet, paired better with the current ensemble than before. 

“Hello, angel.” Crowley handed him a small satchel of books. Aziraphale was certain that there was more literature out there than what the demon brought him. When he questioned Crowley, he had said the rest was rubbish. To trust him, as he had fine taste. Not a single book had disappointed yet. “Do you care to take this inside? I’ve brought some delicacies that would be best eaten sooner than later.” 

Aziraphale had been so swept in the books that he had neglected to notice that Crowley carried a small basket in his other hand. 

His china set meant they could enjoy more refined food than the sweet, untamed fruit of the garden. The garden’s offerings were purer, a honeyed blessing from the Almighty. But there was something to be said about the humans use of butter. 

“Oh, of course, come down.” Aziraphale was mindful of where he landed. As Eden expanded, so did the wildlife. It was spring and a number of writhing, squalling newborns hid in the lush grass. “Where did you bring me food from?” 

“France.” The way Crowley said it—bitter, sharp and short—caused pause. 

“Lovely.” Aziraphale said. “How is France right now?” 

“Bad.” Crowley didn’t like to speak on things that were upsetting to him. Aziraphale did his best to understand; he was a demon, meaning that nothing should upset him besides good. If the adjective was bad, then it would be good for a demon. The thought process made his head hurt. “The pot’s finally boiled over. It’s a bloody mess there right now.” 

He wanted to know what was happening, why it was happening. At the same time, Aziraphale desperately didn’t. There was comfort in pretending as if the tune of the world didn’t carry on without him. That he hadn’t lost the melody. So he said nothing. 

Crowley left the basket on the table, gravitating towards the cabinets to fetch the china. “Pick out a wine, will you?” He asked Aziraphale. 

“What do you think will pair well?” 

“Something sweet.” Crowley used both hands when he handled Aziraphale’s things. He was careful in ways that he simply wasn’t with other things. Aziraphale had seen the way he treated his shoes or hats, miracling them back together when he was too rough with them. 

Aziraphale decided on a white wine. He should write labels on each of the bottles, give them names, to find it easier when Crowley came to visit. But there is some joy in the unknowing, some joy in the careful selection from a keen eye and discerning nose. 

There are crepes and roasted duck, glazed in honey, plated when he climbed back up the stairs. Crowley sprawled in his chair, gestured to his empty wine glass. Aziraphale huffed, secretly bemused at how the demon had done most of the work and acted as if it was nothing. 

The wine came from Greece, and Crowley regaled Aziraphale with a tale about the bathhouses of the time during the meal. He wasn’t one to speak unless nervous. Aziraphale waited him out as it was nice to hear about the outside world, even if the story made his cheeks redden. 

They have moved on to some chocolate-dipped cherries—a rare delicacy, Aziraphale is certain—before Crowley worked his way back to what he wanted. 

“D’you remember when I built you this house?” His voice was warm, somewhat slurred from the three glasses of wine. He sipped at the drink. 

Aziraphale looked around. He could say something touching, like how he remembers every interaction they’ve ever had. That he cherishes them. He could say something biting, like how Crowley forced his hand. The wine has given him both thoughts, both true. 

He settled for something neutral. “Built is a strong word.” 

Crowley scoffed. “Fine, then. When I spent many a miracle on procuring you this establishment?” His teeth clacked on the last word. 

“Of course, my dear. What on it?” 

“Do you remember what you asked me to do for it? So you’d let me put it up?” Crowley circled around what he wanted to say. 

“Yes, I rather do.” It may have taken Aziraphale a moment, but he realized then what the demon was getting at. “The favor.” 

“The favor.” Crowley agreed. 

Excitement and nervousness battled in his chest, and Aziraphale struggled to pull in a small breath. It took a lot of his, not inconsiderable, self-control to keep a steady rise and fall of chest. To keep his hands steady. He waited out the silence. He wouldn’t ask what Crowley wanted, even though he really had no idea. 

Crowley let his hand circle the rim of his glass two times before he spoke again. “I think, and I could be wrong—but I so rarely am—that this is my favorite period of fashion. You would love it out there, I think. There’s books, books, on the subject of proper dressing. You’d find it quite the hoot.” 

Aziraphale whispered to himself, “Hoot?” 

“So, and my favor is this, Aziraphale. Angel. Let me dress you. Let me see you in new clothes.” 

“Black is not my color,” Aziraphale said, rather stupidly. He felt like he had been struck dumb, but he was unsure why. It was an innocuous request in the grand scheme, so why did his heart kick up even harder? 

“I wouldn’t have you wear this. It’s much more my style. No, I brought something and put it in the dresser.” Crowley swallowed, though he hadn’t taken a sip of wine. 

“Really, Crowley.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure how else to respond. 

“It’s not like you ever use them!” Crowley said. “They’ve been collecting dust for decades.” 

“Well, I also didn’t put them there.” 

“The point is—the point is not about the dressers. I would have tossed it on the bed or a chair if you didn’t have it, angel. The point is the favor.” Crowley drug out the last word. He had such a way of speaking, a way to enunciate without ever changing his inflection. 

Aziraphale gripped some of the cotton of his robe, the cloth the Almighty shaped this corporation in, and then released it. If She were not to punish him when allowing Yeshua here, or sealing up the doors, or even speaking to Crowley, then surely…surely this would be okay as well. 

And he did owe Crowley the favor. 

“Do I have to keep wearing them?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley shook his head. “No, they’d be horribly impractical for the garden. Much too stuffy. But if you wanted, y’know, a change of pace when you’re in the house. That’d be fine.” 

“You think so?” 

“They’re just clothes.” He said, soothing. “Nothing wrong with them, nothing particularly evil or good about them.” 

“They aren’t too…?” Aziraphale didn’t know what to ask. Crowley’s clothes looked exemplary, for his body. He didn’t feel as if his shape would be complimented in the type of clothes that his friend wore, even if they were sparkling white. 

“There are lots of different styles. I’ll show you.” Crowley stood, a high flush on his cheeks. They had drunk enough that Aziraphale had a bit of time following him up. 

True to his word, there were a bundle of neatly folded clothes and a pair of shoes in the top drawer. The shoes were a light pink, almost white in the light, with a thin halo of gold around the strap. There was a tan jacket and pants, with a white top and some other white accent pieces. It looked rather fetching, in all honesty. 

Aziraphale reached out, to pick up a frilly piece attached to the shirt, and Crowley stopped him. “The favor is that I get to dress you. No touching.” 

He didn’t understand what Crowley gained from dressing him, except perhaps saving the embarrassment of watching Aziraphale try to learn how to do up buttons. Still, he stepped back and watched as Crowley shook out the clothes and brought them to the bed. There were six pieces total to the ensemble, which were a lot to Aziraphale. 

After Crowley had them all arranged as he wanted them, he turned to the angel. “You’ll need to get undressed, then.” 

He had never learned the shame that the humans felt. Sometimes, Aziraphale thought that the apple would let him in on the big secret and other times, he thought it was something learned from outside the walls. 

Crowley must have learned it, for he blushed when Aziraphale stood naked before him. His eyes slid away from the angel’s form. 

“What’s first?” Aziraphale asked. He was unused to being bare. It wasn’t embarrassment of his form, but rather he missed the heavy weight of the robe along his shoulders. 

“They typically dress bottom up. So, stockings first.” Saying it seemed to put Crowley in motion. He picked up a pair of thin pants—stockings—that were the same shade of pink as the shoes and shuffled closer to Aziraphale. 

He folded himself to the floor and it bubbled inside Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure why the sight of Crowley stirred him, made his blood quicken, but it was undeniable. Crowley touched at his ankle. “Lift up for me.” 

Aziraphale followed the instructions, put his hands on the plane of Crowley’s shoulder for balance. He got both feet on and let the rest of the material pool on the floor. Then, Crowley began to slowly roll them up. 

“I’ve forgotten underwear. It may feel strange, but I promise that it will still look good.” Crowley said. 

“Underwear?” 

“I don’t usually wear it, but the humans like to cover their bits from coarser material.” 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “You won’t have to worry on that. I’ve got no bits, as you can see.” 

The words caused a red to bloom across Crowley’s face. It was a lovely shade and Aziraphale had the notion to put his hand to it. This was a favor, however, and anything he did outside of it was not what was asked. So he did not touch. 

“You ever thought about giving yourself some? Bits, I mean?” 

Aziraphale hadn’t usually. He did, now, with Crowley’s hands pushing up his thighs and his face right there. It was a footnote left in on the body he got, something they forgot to remove when placing an angelic being inside. The idea of pleasure. “Not often.” 

“Don’t see the point of them?” Crowley joked, looking up from where he kneeled. 

“Oh, I do.” Aziraphale’s voice was softer than he meant for it to be. He watched Crowley’s neck work around a swallow. “I very much do.” 

If he were to ask Aziraphale, right then, Aziraphale would say yes. But Crowley does not ask, and Aziraphale finds the clothes acceptable when the favor is done. 

\--

There was a distant part of Aziraphale’s mind that knew, and understood, that Armageddon was coming. The whole purpose of this Earth was Armageddon. 

He just didn’t think he’d still be stuck on Eden duty when it came. Or that the angels would come down and tell him to ready himself. Though, he guessed that he wasn’t much of a fighter without his weapon. And that angels couldn’t get into Eden anymore. 

Crowley and he get all-out drunk when the news is dropped. His friend refused to give up home, refused to let it all go out. Aziraphale couldn’t understand. He had never seen what the world was like out there—only got the snippets that Crowley shared. Crowley shared very infrequently, always stopping when Aziraphale seemed to get forlorn. Aziraphale knew the world spun on but he didn’t know how. 

His friend cracked up a plan, one that he was tight-lipped about around the angel. The years were approaching, the world leaning towards its end, when Crowley’s plan failed. Aziraphale didn’t say anything—even though he knew demonic schemes fell into their own trappings. He wanted this one to work. 

He doesn’t want Crowley to go to war. To never bring him a new book or bakery item. 

“You could stay here,” Aziraphale said. He doesn’t add the please. 

“Angel, I have a few more ideas to chase before I give up that easy.” Crowley acted a little more haggard. His corporation would not change to show the stress, but his actions did. “Besides, you and me all alone in this, quite frankly, massive garden? You’d grow tired of me.” 

“I couldn’t.” It was much too honest. It was not the done thing. “I could never grow tired of you, Crowley.” Aziraphale forced himself to look at his friend, look him in the eye and convey all that he was trying to say. 

It must have got through, as Crowley heaved a put-upon sigh. He straightened his shoulders, making a grand show. Whatever he was going to say was probably important then. “I know you think that. But you don’t know what you’re missing. The world’s got to keep turning so I can convince you—so I can show you what it’s like. You only like me because I’m the only thing that came back.” 

His words shock Aziraphale to his core. “That is not true!” He stood up, paced the floor of the home. The home that Crowley built for him. “I like you because you are good and kind to me—don’t make that face, you know it is true. You don’t have to believe me, but you at least have to come back to me so I can prove it true.” 

“Coming back is why you find me so enjoyable.” Crowley said. “If you want to prove it, come out there. To me.” 

“I’m not allowed.” Aziraphale whispered. His last order, divined straight from The Almighty. “You know I’m not allowed.” 

Crowley sighed. The fight went out of him. Perhaps they were both too tired, much like the world, to keep up the argument. “I know, angel. But that’s why you can’t prove it to me. You don’t have much of a choice in who you interact with here.” 

“I didn’t interact with Elizabeth Bennet when she was being horrid. It’s not like I have to say hello when you stop by.” 

“We’re not going to convince each other.” Crowley said, standing up. “I’ve got to go, you know, apocalypse to stop. I’ll see you soon, Aziraphale.” 

Except at least two years passed, and Crowley did not return. Aziraphale paced the Wall, day in and day out and kept out of his home. He watched the forest around him. Had something happened to Crowley? Something bad? 

Was Aziraphale doomed to watch out the end without his best friend? 

Nothing from the outside indicated into Eden that the Antichrist had come into their powers, yet, but every day Aziraphale strained his ears that he might hear a clash of metal. He looked to the horizon to see if there be holy light along the way. He reasoned and argued with himself. The angels would find a way to him, if there were a war. Or the demons. Aziraphale’s purpose in the Great Plan may have been millennia ago, but it wasn’t small. Some of them must remember the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. 

Until one day, almost three years after their small tiff, Crowley ducked out of the woods. His face was streaked in soot, and his hair was cropped shorter than Aziraphale liked it. There was some blood on his hands. Aziraphale stared down at him, the world quieting. “You’re late.” He said. 

“I had to get some things in order.” Crowley threw his wings out, beating up quicker than he had before. “And I don’t want you to freak out about them, angel.” 

“What would I freak out about?” Aziraphale asked. He was already freaking out, for Crowley only said that when he told Aziraphale something he had done that was truly foolish. Then he looked to the wood and saw what Crowley brought. The humans were trying to hide, but their clothes stood out among the greenery of the forest. “Why would you bring them here?” 

“Listen, world’s going to end. What do you want me to do? Let them die? That’s more my lot’s purview than yours.” 

“You know what The Almighty said—I’m not to let humans in.” Aziraphale tried to keep himself out of sight of them. It was hard when he was wearing a stark white robe, on a giant wall, but he was trying. 

“Did She?” Crowley asked. At Aziraphale’s incredulous look, he continued on. “I mean, is that what She said? Tell me how it went, word for word.” 

Aziraphale had known Crowley all of humanity’s time on Earth. He knew this was an invitation for temptation. To allow Crowley to find different meaning that would make it okay. And that he shouldn’t say anything—but the humans were clearly scared and travel weary. 

“She asked me where I put the flaming sword She gave me.” Aziraphale started off. He remembered his personal encounter with The Almighty very well. How it felt to stand in pure holiness, how it had burned somewhat. Many a night, Aziraphale worried about what the burning sensation meant of him. 

“I told Her, ‘I must have set it down somewhere.’ I was a bad liar.” Aziraphale said, explaining. “I said, ‘Lose my head next if I’m not careful.’” 

“You tried to joke with The Al—with Her?” Crowley looked rather like he looked when this flaming sword business first began. 

“Not well, obviously. And then She said, ‘Well, I hope you find it soon. I need you to mind the Garden for me.’” Aziraphale stopped talking. That’s all she said—and he never found his sword because it was out in the world of men and he was meant to mind paradise. 

“That’s it?” Crowley asked. 

“That’s it.” Aziraphale said, folding his hands behind his back. He was almost excited to see what Crowley would think up. 

Crowley groaned. “Aziraphale, I know you haven’t been around enough people to understand what ‘minding’ something means but let me tell you. I mind my plants, in my apartments. I don’t have to stay there, forever, to make sure it’s alright.” 

“Surely they would have given me other orders if I was only meant to pop by Eden every few years.” Aziraphale pointed out. 

“Okay, fine, let’s say you got that point right. There’s no changing it now. But where in that did you get the whole idea that humans weren’t allowed to come back in?” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Well, obviously they weren’t supposed to come back in. She wouldn’t have kicked them out if they could come and go as they please.” 

“She kicked Adam and Eve out, angel. Not these people.” He throws his hands down to the humans. Aziraphale can now see a few faces poking out. Dear Lord, there are children present. “Why don’t I lay out the facts for you?” 

He doesn’t wait for Aziraphale to agree before he continues. “One, you were told to mind the Garden. Even if we disagree on the amount of focus you should have put into that, you’ve got to admit that the order didn’t say anything about humans. Two, the humans that were kicked out died over five thousand years ago. Getting close to six thousand here.

“Three, Eden’s growing. You can’t deny that. Why would She put into motion letting the walls extend? What’s the point of that?” 

Aziraphale hesitated. That was something he had wondered on as well, ever since he had seen the first new lake. There were three now. It took him almost two days to walk the space of the Walls now. 

“Fourth, it is the only place where angels and demons would struggle to get in. And the only place on Earth that they don’t seem to care about. Okay.” Crowley seemed to have a different thought. “Let’s put it in terms of The Plan, okay?” 

Aziraphale nodded. 

“She allowed us to meet. Allowed us to be friends. Allowed you and I to seal up the doors to Heaven and Hell. Allowed you to keep letting me into the Garden, even though you were under the assumption that you were ordered to keep all sin out. With me so far?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, but—” Aziraphale faltered. 

His friend kept on. “Why would that be allowed, if not for some purpose? Maybe you were kept here so you could be here to protect the people that would one day come back to Eden? The space being made bigger, being able to be protected from Heaven and Hell, no consequences for you and I interacting?” 

“That is not in the Plan.” Aziraphale knew it. He hadn’t read the Plan, for then he didn’t know how, but Gabriel had explained it enough times. 

“Maybe not the Great Plan, but what about the Ineffable Plan?” 

“The Ineffable Plan?” Aziraphale asked. 

“You know, the one She keeps tucked away from sight. The one that’s what has really been the plan, but that wasn’t put on display. You’re always going on about how She’s ineffable, why can’t there have been another plan made? An ineffable one?” 

“It makes sense…” 

“See!” Crowley clapped his hands. “It does, doesn’t it? And besides, even if this is the wrong choice—which it’s not—it’s the end of the world anyway. What are they going to do that some demon wouldn’t if he got his claws near you? Why would they be watching now?” 

Aziraphale looked down the woods. He couldn’t tell how many people were there, or where they were from or anything about them. But they were God’s original chosen, in a very broad sense of the word. 

He wished for a sign from Heaven. A sign from God on what to do. Crowley made good points, but it was his whole job to make lies sound like truth. And yet. He hadn’t lied to Aziraphale before. It would be easier to choose, if God would send a light filled door to one of the Walls or say something—say anything. 

Instead, the ground shook and Crowley fell to his knees. “Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, grabbing onto his friend’s arm. The trees in the wood rattled and birds took to the sky. Something in the very fabric of the world has shifted. 

“It’s Satan.” Crowley ground out. “He’s up, he’s here.” 

“Here?” 

“Not here,” Crowley snarled, waving his hand at the general of Eden. “On Earth, here. It’s now or never, angel. We really don’t have time to discuss anymore.” 

There was a flash of white, far off on the horizon. It could have been over a sea, but the sky opened up for it. The angels were coming down and no one, not a single angel, had come to Aziraphale. He looked to the humans below, many of them gripping the trunks of the trees for support. 

There was a woman below, a babe in her arms, who met his eye. 

“Let’s get them in.” Aziraphale said. “I’ll open up a door.” 

“We’ll seal it with every ward we’ve got once everyone’s inside,” Crowley went back down to the outside woods. 

Aziraphale landed on the inside of the Garden, looking at the weakest spot on the Wall. The place where he had to refortify when he let out Adam and Eve, and then refortify again when he brought in Crowley. It was easy, physically, to open up the door again. Aziraphale waited to see if the sky would turn black or a bolt of divine power would be called down on his head. Another flash of white in the distance, but not here. 

The people looked at Eden with awe, as they came in. Aziraphale let them filter through, said very little to each. When Crowley brought up the rear, he sets the rocks to rights. “We’ll have to get started on making houses for everyone.” Aziraphale said. 

“A lot of them know how to make their own.” Crowley responded. He wasn’t as strong as Aziraphale and, thus, only watched as each stone was put back to its place. Aziraphale cut him a glare. “Fine, we can also help out.” 

“You do know what this means, don’t you?” 

Crowley sighed. “I’ve got to share you with the masses now.” 

“I get to show you, no matter who’s around, you are my favorite.” Crowley looked shocked at the statement. Aziraphale, hands dirty from the rocks, placed a palm to his cheek. Some dirt from each of them swapped off. “You will always be my favorite.” 

“Yeah, we’ll see.” Crowley said, huffing for the show of it. “Always is a long time.” 

Always was a long time, but it didn’t make what Aziraphale said false. Time has a way of proving that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely see, in the future, maybe someone somewhere getting a ping on the Heaven/Hell messaging board with a name that they haven't seen in literal eons (either because Crowley/Aziraphale refused to use up miracles or because that's how long the war lasted...and who has time to check office memos with a war on?) and being like OH WHERE R U U B*TCH
> 
> Anyway, I don't plan on writing it (at the moment) but if you wanted to know, now you do. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love comments!

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter will be up 6/29!!!
> 
> I really wanted to explore a piece where Aziraphale does what the bible says the guardian of Eden does (stand at it forever, protect it forever).


End file.
